


Again

by seethemonte



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), Tommy Ratliff (Musician)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-16
Updated: 2011-04-16
Packaged: 2017-10-18 04:22:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/184935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seethemonte/pseuds/seethemonte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Well, lookin’ good Lambert. Just roll out of bed with some twink?” Tommy staggered in without invitation – he didn’t need it, but still – a half empty bottle in his papery white hands. His own lipstick was slightly smeared across his cheek but his heavy liner still intact. He swung around to face Adam, still frowning next to the wide open door. That stupid smirk. “You gonna shut that door or let all the bugs in?” Typical.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Again

It was one of those nights when the weight of everything came crashing down on him. He fucking missed Glam Nation, he fucking missed having normal friends and he fucking missed having an actual relationship in which he wasn’t being used for the fame. He had thought fame would be good for him, getting him and his message out there and everyone knowing his name and causing controversy and all the ensemble of fame was just awesome. All those moves he’d grown up watching, how great it seemed. Being a rockstar is fucking awesome. But if only he’d been smart enough to realize that living from paycheck to paycheck was better than this endless void of emotion that was his life now. He couldn’t find himself caring about anything or anybody, like he had with such intensity before. It was probably the superficiality of it all – behind that friendly smile were eyes that were brimming with loathing, for themselves and everyone around them. The clothes that were plastered on your back by some stranger were what made you, “you” and as long as you kept a glass in your hand and a smile on your face, you were set. What everyone wanted, what seemed so unattainable, was really a curse. There was no humanity to this acclaim. There never was.  
The doorbell rang, jolting him. In an attempt to look like he hadn’t just fallen over in a pile of pity and loathing, he smeared Sutan’s effort to make him look pretty. His midnight guest would just have to accept he looked like a pile of regurgitated shit.

“Well, lookin’ good Lambert. Just roll out of bed with some twink?” Tommy staggered in without invitation – he didn’t need it, but still – a half empty bottle in his papery white hands. His own lipstick was slightly smeared across his cheek but his heavy liner still intact. He swung around to face Adam, still frowning next to the wide open door. That stupid smirk. “You gonna shut that door or let all the bugs in?” Typical.  
“No,” Adam accented himself by slamming the door shut. “What the hell are you doing here? I thought you had girls to fuck.”  
Tommy scoffed. “I already did fuck a girl.”  
“Oh? And who’s little drunk ass was that?” Adam crossed his arms over his chest.  
“We’re friends right?” he paused. Adam did nothing. “Haaaa, of course. Yeah okay. You know that girl… wha’s her name… Raja?”  
“You really had sex with Sutan?” Adam repeated.  
“Huh? Nooo, Raja.”  
That was the last straw.

If writing a song about how much he fucking hated fame and everyone surrounding him didn’t make him sound like an ungrateful shit, he’d have a whole album dedicated to it. He’d tried the booze approach months ago and the fucking everyone in sight mechanism only made things worse. He’d fooled around with drugs a long time ago and there was no way in hell that would be replaying itself any time soon. He had no fucking clue what to do except what people told him what to do. He was good at that – being a puppet was easy. He didn’t even have to try, everything just came so naturally. It felt okay. The emptiness was filled, it didn’t matter that it was artificial, he was filled. And for the time being, it would work. If Lane just kept instructing him, guiding his wobbly self down a narrow path, things would eventually work out. And then things be fixed.  
Or something.

That Tommy had actually done anything like that with Sutan still shook Adam to the core. The only way he could comfort himself was that Tommy was drunk out of his mind and making shit up. But that was so was not Tommy. He spilled everything – and fucking everything – when he was intoxicated. But there’s always an exception. There has to be. Tommy wouldn’t fuck Sutan, Sutan wouldn’t allow for it. But that wasn’t Sutan either. He didn’t fucking know these people anymore and if anything, that was what hurt. And yet, he still let Tommy in every. Single. Time.

“Look who’s here!” Tommy thrust himself through the doorway. This time the beer bottle was absent, but Adam was distracted by his pants. Those pants were so fucking tight Adam didn’t know they made them like that.  
“When you get drunk, do you just think ‘oh, I think I’ll go over to Adam’s and annoy him at one in the morning’?” Adam sighed, sitting down on the stairs.  
“Nope,” Tommy said defiantly.  
“What do you think then?” Adam retorted.  
“Well yours is the only address I remember,” he paused for a long time trying to break through the haze in his head. “and I-I dunno.”  
Tommy sort of stumbled, sort of tried to walk over to sit next to Adam, in sort of a condoling way. He was too inebriated to know why, but he could tell Adam was disappointed. Instead of gracefully crouching next to him like he envisioned, Adam had to shove him off his lap into a slightly upright position. His hand snaked around to rest on Adam’s far hip and he attempted to bring Adam closer but instead just ended up with his head on Adam’s shoulder.  
Adam felt slightly better, but Tommy was drunk so it didn’t mean anything. “Come back when you’re sober.” He muttered, shrugging Tommy off like he was just an accessory. Tommy pulled away, hurt gleaming in his dark eyes.  
“You know, just ‘cuz I’m drunk… d-doesn’t mean I have no feelings,” Tommy whimpered, pulling himself up with help from the banister. Adam stood up as if to say something but he didn’t know what to say.  
Tommy turned back, sad eyes glancing over Adam. He frowned and took a timid step back to the man. He looked down, stood up on his toes, and placed his lips on Adam’s slightly parted ones. It was only a few seconds and Tommy pulled away. He didn’t even look back at Adam, he flung the door open and left.

Adam woke up to a free day. He had nothing planned so instead of rushing to the bathroom, he slumped onto the sofa and watched the recording of last night’s Vampire Diaries. He was far too preoccupied with last night’s events to follow whatever was going on in the show. The sunlight began to wash the room so much so that Adam had shut the blinds. He glanced out into the small backyard and something caught his eye.  
“Do you have ANY morals?” he shouted at the twink sleeping on his patio furniture. “You come into my house at one in the morning, run out and then sleep in my backyard? Seriously, what the fuck!”  
He thought it was cute that Tommy had no place to go but his backyard more than he found it rude. He imagined Tommy leaving his house after… the, uh, thing and realizing he had no place to go. And even though he was angry that Tommy had kissed him and confused him like that and was now sleeping in his backyard hungover, he still felt sorry for the guy. He had really hit a new low. If only Adam could forget the kiss and take care of him forever. Surely Tommy was just trashed and upset and their friendship had certainly crossed certain boundaries… so he just did it. He just did it because. That comforted Adam. There was no romance between them, just a lot of alcohol.

“Hey, you! Yeah, you. The guy crashing in my backyard. Get the fuck up,” he crossed his arms. Tommy began to stir.  
“Oh my god, is this hell?” were his first words. Quiet and muffled by the cushion, but still.  
“You drink like an alcoholic, and get surprised when you’re hungover. Now get up,” Adam said, wrapping an arm around Tommy’s shoulders and helping him inside.  
“You’re either an alcoholic or you’re not,” Tommy muttered when they got inside, “and I’m pretty sure I am.”  
“Oh, Tommy.”

Adam led Tommy to the couch in the presently dark living room, and came back with Advil and water. He sat on the floor in front of the couch, gently stroking Tommy’s messy hair. He really loved Tommy’s hair and it was fact that Tommy loved people touching his hair whatever condition he was in.  
“Can you… can you put on Sleepwalker?” Tommy whispered. “Really quiet.”  
Adam obliged without a word. He didn’t like listening to his own songs and whenever they came on the radio, he instantly changed the station.  
“Yeah, but I really love hearing your voice,” Tommy murmured like he could read Adam’s mind. “Talk to me.”  
“Um, okay. About what?” Adam said.  
“Anything,” Tommy answered, face still burrowed in the pillows.  
“Uh,” Adam pondered for a moment. “Remember in Cabo when all you wore was black and you stayed so pale and it was hilarious? And then remember how fun the first show was? And, oh god, Miami. And Amsterdam. Amsterdam was really fun. Well, y’know. And um…” Adam’s cheeks burned. Tommy was probably thinking how pervy Adam must be.  
“Yeah, I liked Amsterdam. It was good,” he smiled slightly, turning his head to meet Adam’s eyes. The intense pounding in his head had become a dull ache by now, and he felt up to turning over to face Adam. His hand found its’ way into Adam’s and he stayed frozen like that.  
Adam grinned like an idiot. “Then the last show. The crowd was crazy and we knew, like, all our friends were watching us. And everyone was just… just awesome. I miss that.”  
“Yeah. Glam Nation was special.” Tommy grinned.  
“Last night, you were drunk…” Adam began abruptly. He had to do it. “You kissed me.”  
As expected, a long silence hung over the men. Tommy’s grip on Adam’s hand loosened. Adam felt sick suddenly. He had ruined it, for sure.  
“I meant it.”


End file.
